Missing
by CldyAlwys
Summary: Dad's missing. Remember the Poltergeist in Amherst or the Devil's gates in Clifton? He was missing then too. He's always missing and he's always fine. Pre series. Rated T for language and future violence.
1. Prologue: Hunt

_I do not own Supernatural. _

* * *

Dean knew it was a hunt before John got off the phone. Partly because no one ever called in the middle of the night to say howdy-do, and partly because John was already up and alert, throwing on the same pair of downright filthy jeans he wore for the last hunt.

Dean leaned against the door frame, clad in gray pajama bottoms, studying his father's swift, sullen movements without a word. He watched John snatch his journal off the night stand and pop a pen in his mouth only long enough to tug the cap off.

"Ready," he spoke into the phone, placing pen to paper.

Dean watched his father's head tilt to one side in confusion, a look that Dean didn't see very often.

"Devil's Gates in Clifton? You sure?"

John closed his eyes and wiped a hand over his face as the gruff voice on the phone got more audible. Dean could tell it was Bobby from where he stood.

"I ain't deaf, Singer," John grumbled into the phone, "Just give me the damn information."

John scribbled furiously for a moment, nodding his head as the facts were briefed to him.

"Yeah, give me three hours." John flipped the phone shut and stood up to see Dean for the first time.

"I can take it," Dean offered, before thinking twice. He knew the answer before the words were even out of his mouth. He saw John's frown and did his best not to take it as an insult. He turned eighteen two months ago and had been itching for a solo hunt for much longer, but his dad always had other ideas.

"I need you here, watching out for Sammy."

"Yes, sir," he tried to say with conviction, but even he could hear the disappointment in his voice.

Dean had arguments up the yin yang on why his dad should let him take this hunt, the selfishness to get his hands dirty being on the bottom of the list. His biggest concern was that John just got back from a hunt earlier that night and it was obvious he hadn't slept in a while. Unshaven and unkempt, he had stumbled in the front door, grumbled a gruff hello and hit the hay. That had been four hours ago, barely. Dean figured the odds were more than fifty percent that John's rig would end up in a tree before he got anywhere near Clifton.

But these valid points wouldn't mean a god damn thing to John Winchester and Dean knew it. No sense in trying to argue with a man as stubborn as an ass. It was futile, he should know, he'd listened to Sam try it often enough to no avail.

"If I say I need you here, then I need you here," John groused, reading his son's facial expressions like an open book. "It's important, Dean."

"Yes, sir," Dean spoke again, with more finality. "Hold down the fort, I got it."

I've always got it, Dean thought to himself, resisting the urge to flash his dad a mock salute. He knew it was important, taking care of Sammy was always important, but sometimes Dean had to wonder if Dad wouldn't let him go solo because John didn't want to be left alone with his brother for any lengthy period of time.

Not that Dean could really blame him, he's not sure he'd want to hang out with someone who was constantly at his throat, and since Sam hit puberty, he'd pretty much been at Dad's throat every waking moment of every day, when he wasn't busy making himself a bigger geek, that is.

John flashed his son one more look before reaching for his duffel and shrugging his jacket on. He shoved the journal into an inside pocket, and reached for the nine mil. under his pillow, all while continuing to brief his son.

"This may take a while, I don't know how long. If it's more than thirty days, abandon fort, pick a new location and sendPastor Jim the coordinates, don't call Bobby, he's with me."

"Yes, sir," Dean repeated once more, then added, "You think it's gonna be that long?"

John shook his head, "I don't know for sure, could be a week, could be more. If you don't hear from me in two, leave early, got it? Don't try to call, just pick up and take off. I'll be in contact as soon as I can."

Dean's brow furrowed as he responded this time. "Yes sir." This was as serious as it'd been in a good long while. It was the first time he'd been ordered to leave town without John and that bugged him, but he wouldn't let it show, not to his father and definitely not to Sam.

"Good man." John squeezed his shoulder, hard, on his out of the bedroom. Dean turned to follow, knowing that the older man had no intentions of waking up Sammy, but he didn't have to.

The thirteen year old met him at the front door, accusation dripping from his facial features. "You're leaving again?" Sam practically spat out. "You just got back."

"Stand down, soldier," John ordered, using his hand to rub his tired forehead.

Dean watched Sammy carefully, knowing the command would only make him angrier. Dad didn't seem to get that what worked on Dean would never work on Sam, well maybe dad did get it, but he didn't do too much to switch tactics lately.

"You just got back." Sam stood his ground, with as much stubbornness as he could muster. Perhaps his newly found four inches gave him more courage than he would normally have, or maybe he was sleepwalking, or maybe the kid had just gone mad. Whatever the excuse for his brother's temporary lapse of sanity, Dean stepped in to put a stop to it.

John beat him to the punch. "It's important Sam, I wouldn't go if it wasn't important."

"You always say that." Sam's voice was soft, obvious defeat in it as he stepped out of the doorway to let his father pass.

John reached out to rub his youngest son's hair, and much to Dean's surprise, Sam took the torment.

"Listen to your brother, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Sam nodded, "yes sir," just as the door slammed shut with John Winchester on the outside of it.

Both boys listened in silence at the sound of the truck start up and peel out of the driveway.

Once the low growl of the engine became undetectable, Dean turned to Sammy, eyeing his brother's sullen expression with concern and a bit of sympathy. As manly as he could, Dean reached an arm around Sam's shoulder and pulled him into a strong squeeze that almost knocked the younger boy off of his feet.

"Jerk," Sam huffed, allowing himself to tumble into Dean's side.

"Bitch," Dean answered back, on autopilot. Then after a pause, "Dad'll come back soon, Sammy, he always does."

Sam nodded slightly, his face expressing his doubt and Dean wondered if the uncertainty in his own voice was that obvious.

* * *

**A/N: I have a plan for this, but I'm not sure if it works better as a one shot, let me know. :)**

**To those waiting for an update to Coping, I'm working on it, I've had a bad case of writer's block (excuses, excuses,) but look for an update soon.  
**


	2. Chapter 1: To be Proud of

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, I really appreciate them, hope you enjoy this chapter. :) If you see a mistake please point it out, thanks so much.

I do not own Supernatural.

* * *

_Country road take me home..._

_To the place I belong...  
_

"Oh come on." Dean gave the portable AM/FM radio a hearty kick and watched it tumble over in the gravel driveway.

"Friggin' hick towns and they're stupid gospel stations!" He hollered, almost hoping some pathetic townie would hear him, so he could tell them what he really thought of this shit hole. When the wind didn't so much as blow back at him, Dean glanced over at his younger brother, who lay sprawled out in the grass on his stomach, nose to a book, completely oblivious to Dean's little outburst.

"Dude," Dean shouted in his direction, " Can't you tell I'm having a crisis here."

Sam flipped the page of his book without so much as a glance in Dean's direction. "Yeah, it's the same crisis you've had every weekend since we've been here. I don't even know why you bother, just turn on the car stereo."

"And waste my baby's battery?" Dean asked, incredulously. "Fat chance. I'll just torment you to ease my suffering." He reached into the bucket at his feet and pulled out a sponge.

It had been three days since John had left and the boys had yet to hear from him. Dean was doing his best to keep their routine as normal as possible for Sammy's sake, but the stress of being kept in the dark was starting to take its toll on both of them.

"You know," Sam said, sitting up from his spot in the grass, "you really don't have to detail her every single weekend, Dean. A well applied coat of wax can last three months or more and lots of people go a whole year without the detailing."

Dean scoffed, almost dropping the sponge back into the bucket of soap suds. "See? That's exactly why I got the Impala and you didn't."

"Really? Cause I thought it was because you're old enough to drive it and I'm not."

"That's beside the point, Sammy, if we were twins, I still would've gotten _her, _cause I don't treat her like an inanimate object. I give her the attention she deserves."

Sam just rolled his eyes and went back to reading while Dean preceded to soap up the car in front of him, with the same gentleness that a mother would use with a newborn child. He didn't take his brother's complaints to heart. This _was_ their routine, had been for as long as Dean could remember. Even before John had passed the Impala on to him, Dean would still take the time to wash, wax and detail her every weekend he could. When his father wasn't on a hunt, they would do it together, while Sam stayed off to the side and preoccupied himself with a book or homework, whichever he deemed more important at the time.

Sometimes Sam would help or sometimes Dean would attack him with dirty soap suds and they'd get distracted with a water fight, but the routine stayed intact. Dean was grateful for that, Saturday mornings being the only normalcy that Sam got to experience on a continuing basis. Even if Sam bitched about it, Dean knew he cherished this time as much as he did, although neither one of them would ever admit it out loud.

"You know you could help, instead of lying around doing nothing."

"It's called reading."

"Called being lazy," Dean chided.

"Whatever," Sam mumbled, without so much as budging.

Dean could have gone back to the task at hand and left Sammy to his book. But his brother looked too peaceful, lying on the ground like that, and Dean could really use the extra help, especially since he didn't have any music to rock out to. Besides, he wouldn't be the great big brother that he knew he was if he just let Sam lie around in the sun all day. So instead of scrubbing at the car in front of him, he picked the spare sponge out of the bucket and tossed it in his brother's direction. It landed with a plop right in front of Sammy, splashing soap and water into his face and all over his book.

Sammy sprung to his feet and shook the excess water off his book, before using his shirt to wipe his face dry. "You suck," he pouted, sticking his chin out.

"Quit your bitching and come give me a hand."

Sam refused to budge from his current position on the lawn and Dean could tell by the sulky expression on his face that Sam was seconds from turning around and huffing inside.

"C'mon Sam, it was a joke, don't be such a little bitch."

Dean watched Sam's chin jut out a few more inches. He let out one final huff and muttered, "fine," before depositing his book on the bottom step of the small trailer they were renting. Sam picked up the sponge and walked to Dean's side, immersing the object into the bucket.

Victoriously, Dean turned back to the job at hand, grateful for his brother's help and company. Reading Sam was very much like zombie Sam and Dean couldn't stand either one of them. He knew once his brother started washing the car he'd be more open to conversation.

"I still can't believe Dad gave you the Impala," Sam said, washing the hood in small, gentle circles. "He must be growing senile or something."

"Nah," Dean scoffed with a grin, feeling his elated mood grow. "He just came to his senses."

"Right," Sam huffed.

Dean just smiled, remembering the conversation he had with his father, barely two months ago.

* * *

_The outside air was frigid, the expected temperature for Denver in January, but Dean preferred to be outside just the same. The sky was clear and the cold air felt good in his lungs. They were staying in a studio apartment that could've been mistaken for a walk-in closet so Dean jumped at the slightest chance to be outside. He was grateful they were hitting the road tomorrow, he just wish Sammy felt the same way. The sound of sliding glass brought Dean out of his thoughts in time to see John Winchester stepping out onto the secluded patio with two open bottles of beer in his hand. He passed one over to Dean and took a seat on the wooden crate opposite his son. _

"_Happy birthday," he said with a grin, holding his beer out. _

_Dean tapped it with his own bottle, and took a long slug. "Thanks," he nodded, with a grin. Then after a minute. "Sammy sleeping?"_

"_Like a baby."_

_Dean chuckled, "Yeah, I bet." He took another swig of his beer, waiting for his dad to say something. When John remained silent, Dean glanced over to see his father staring at his knuckles, deep in thought._

"_Dad?" He asked, uncertain. If he didn't know better, he'd say that John was almost nervous, and that was not a behavior that he saw from his father that often. _

"_I want to tell you a story," the older man stated, without so much as glancing at his now eighteen year old son. _

"_You want to what?" Dean asked, perplexed. He couldn't even remember the last time his father had wanted to 'tell him a story.'_

"_Just let me tell it." John paused long enough to clear his throat. "You know I grew up on a farm."_

_Dean nodded. He had learned this information from Pastor Jim years ago. His dad didn't talk about his childhood that much, cause that meant talking about Lawrence, and that was something John Winchester did not talk about, under any circumstances. So, while Dean was very confused by this new topic of conversation, he was also curious, and kept his mouth shut for fear that his dad would change his mind and the subject if he didn't. _

"_We grew wheat. I spent so many damn hours out in those fields, I had callouses on my hands that were six inches thick. It had been my granddaddy's farm, and one day I was supposed to inherit it. It didn't happen. When I was thirteen we had a bad year, the first of many. Your grandfather held onto that land as long as he could, but things didn't let up, and we were forced to move."_

"_I remember that day, clearly. Giving up that farm was the hardest thing my father ever had to do and that first night in town I found him standing outside, staring out at the direction of the land we no longer owned. I walked over to him, and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. He wouldn't look at me, but he said, ' a man's gotta have something to be proud of.'"_

_John paused and looked over at Dean, who was still listening intently. "I could see his pain, and recognized the look in his eyes as that of a man who felt he had lost all he had. I understood that then, that he was hurting bad, but at the time I couldn't relate, not then." _

_John blinked and looked away. "Anyway, a few years later, on my eighteenth birthday, he came to me. He took out a sterling silver pocket watch. I had seen it before, lots of times. It had belonged to my grandad, and his grandad before then, there was a rumor that it followed the family bloodlines all the way back to before the civil war. My father took as much pride in the story as he took in the watch itself. I was never allowed to touch it, or even look at for very long. He polished and wound it every damn day. The thing was kept in mint condition and was worth a fortune. He gave it to me that day, told me it was now my responsibility, to shine it, to wind it, to keep it looking brand new, because a man needs something to be proud of."_

_John paused to take a long drink from his bottle. Dean remained silent, patiently waiting for his dad to continue. He wouldn't know what to say anyway; John was never really in a sentimental mood and it left the younger man speechless. _

"_I kept that watch for years, took care of it. I was adamant about passing it on, down the line. I wanted to give it to you today, but I don't have it anymore."_

_Dean opened his mouth to ask what happened, but John cut him off with a shake of his head. _

"_Not a day goes by I don't regret not taking care of it, that was a mistake on my part, one I know you won't make."_

"_Dad, I don't..." Dean stopped mid sentence, speechless. He saw his father's open palm in front of him, saw the familiar key on a brand new silver plated key chain. At first, Dean thought his dad was pulling his leg, it had to be a joke. There's no way John Winchester would ever think of giving him the Impala, it was his prized possession. But the hand didn't retract. _

"_You're giving me the Impala?" _

"_I expect you to keep it in top condition, don't let me regret my decision."_

"_No sir," Dean said, finally getting the nerve to remove the keys from his father's hands. _

_John stood up and took the beer out of his son's hands. He sloshed the half empty contents around and clasped his grown son on the shoulder. "Go on and take it out, just be home at a reasonable hour, we're pulling out tomorrow, at 0600."_

"_Yes sir," Dean responded, grinning from ear to ear. _

_John returned the grin and turned to go inside. "A man needs something to be proud of." With that, he shut the patio door, before Dean could get another word out, leaving the young man to be alone with his new possession. _

_

* * *

_

A wet, hard object hit Dean square in the chest, bringing him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see the sponge at his feet and looked up to see Sammy with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Dean flashed his little imp of a brother an evil grin, snatched up the bucket full of water and started around the car. Sammy didn't have a chance, he barely made it five feet before he was drenched in cold soapy water. He retaliated by lunging himself at Dean, using the element of surprise to get the older Winchester down to his knees. They rolled on the ground for a while, taking turns at who had the upper hand. The realization that Sam was getting stronger didn't go unnoticed by Dean.

Moves that would've had the kid out of air must months ago, no longer worked and Dean had to find new tactics to pin his baby brother. He still managed to get the upper hand more often that not, though.

The sound of a car engine coming up the driveway distracted Dean long enough for Sam to get a good right hook in right across Dean's cheek. He cursed loudly and stood up, pulling his younger brother up with him.

"You OK?" Sam asked, concern etched on his face as he tried to get a closer look at Dean's face.

"Just peachy, Sammy." He grinned. "You know I let you take that shot."

"Yeah, right."

They both turned their attention to the familiar rusty orange Yugo that pulled up in front of them.

Sam frowned as he realized who the intruder was and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at her.

"Follow my lead," Dean whispered, eyeing the noisy social worker suspiciously, as she got out of the car and adjusted her skirt before approaching them.

"Good morning boys," she greeted with a fake smile on her face. "Is your dad around?"

Dean stepped forward and flashed her a charming smile.


End file.
